Succubus
by kurama-sweethart
Summary: [AU Ishval] A female demon which comes to men in their sleep to seduce them and have sexual intercourse, drawing energy from the men to sustain themselves, often until the point of exhaustion or death... [Royai] [RoyLust]
1. I

**Succubus  
****_By Kurama-sweethart (Moe Shmoe)  
_Beta:** **baeckahaesten**  
**Pairing:** Mainly Lust x Roy with mentions of Lust x Marcoh  
**Rating:** R for the general theme  
**Warnings:** Alternate Animeverse, Spoilers for Ishval  
**_  
Succubus (n.)_** _a female demon which comes to men in their sleep to seduce them and have sexual intercourse, drawing energy from the men to sustain themselves, often until the point of exhaustion or death. _

**I.**

She had appeared as if from thin air on the night after their third battle, an attack on a small Ishvalan village to the Northeast. A perceptive few might have made a connection between the mysterious woman and the destruction, but her pale skin and dark eyes suggested otherwise: she was surely not local. Dr. Marcoh had claimed that she was his research partner, an ally in creating the stone that aided the transmutations of the infamous State Alchemists. She wasn't an Ishvalan, so she couldn't be a fugitive. Thus she was allowed to stay.

It didn't matter much to Roy, anyway. He had a sneaking suspicion that the curvy woman's job was not to help with the doctor's research so much as to help with the loneliness of a married man away from his wife. Hell, sometimes Roy felt it too, that loneliness, what with being alone with mostly men as company for months on end. But he never spoke of his skepticism. Perhaps out of respect for the old man: Maybe because of something else.

Roy opened his knapsack and pulled out a small bottle of painkillers prescribed by Marcoh himself. He quickly placed three of the caplets into his mouth and swallowed them dry, squinting against the throbbing migraine that threatened to render him unconscious. Instantly, Roy felt the pills hit his empty stomach and he doubled over as it agonizingly gargled its displeasure. He finally gave in to sleep in the same state, hours later.

**II.**

The sunlight felt ethereal, filtering through the thin fabric of the tent. Roy squinted up into it, sitting up and glancing over at the empty cot that had, up until a week prior, been the place in which Maes Hughes had slept. But he had been dispatched a lonely seven days before, back to Central to resume normal political duties outside of the war. He could still hear the frantic whisper of his best friend, justifying himself as if Roy were not the man in need of convincing.

"There's no way I can stay here any longer." Maes had said, shoving all his belongings roughly into a small canvas bag. "The blood, the bodies… I'll go insane, Roy. I'll lose my mind and you know it."

And he had understood, understood with every fiber that made up his body. Maes had someone to return home to- that lovely woman from their days at the institute. She was there, back in Central, waiting for him with a diamond on her finger. Didn't he deserve that? Hadn't Maes earned that happiness?

Still, there was a pang of betrayal Roy felt, of treachery, that haunted him every morning since the train left that Roy felt Hughes should have spent there, in their tent, suffering with him.

**III.**

Roy ducked under the flap of the tent, into the small room formally known as the mess hall, however the name was so contradictory that all the soldiers referred to it as 'The Cave'. It was barely large enough for five of the men to squat comfortably in, let alone for the cook to set up his stove and slop out the lumpy goop that hardly passed as food. Nevertheless, there was always a crowd piled around it, as if one morning they might wake up and find that there were no more warm meals, no matter how lumpy or goopy, and that they were to eat insects as some of the establishments to the south were rumored.

He picked up a plate, shoving his way through the mob towards the last batch of soggy eggs. Scooping every crumb onto his plate, Roy violently pushed his way back out into the already unbearable sun. The eggs were gone before he could even head to the tables. Yet his stomach still snarled as if nothing were eaten at all.

"Holding up alright, Major?" Asked an all-too-familiar voice, and Roy hardly even had to turn around for his greeting. The Flame Alchemist dumped his plate into a murky gray bucket of water that had long since been blessed with soap, listening to the clink of china against china.

"I should be asking you the same, Armstrong." he replied darkly, his misery as apparent as it was the beginning of the war. "I heard about the third battle. I'm sorry."

Armstrong only smiled sadly, clapping Roy on the back. "A man must do what a man must do. I only wish that_ they _were _men_ instead of _children_."

**IV.**

The range was thick with the stench of gunpowder and smoke, loud with the silence of aim and concentration. It was her paradise, in a way, the long runs divided by wooden fences, finished with the thin metal bulls-eye that had become as familiar as a lover's embrace. Hawkeye could stay there for hours, lodging shell after shell in the target, relishing the kick of recoil every time she pulled the trigger. Her rifle had become like a drug, addicting and sweet and undeniably always there when it was needed most.

The sun was blazing that morning, causing sweat to run down her neck and pool at the base of her spine. She pulled the semiautomatic close to her face, breathing in the smell of the grease she used to clean it and the underlying aroma of metal. Riza squinted one eye closed, aiming right in the center of her target. In the time that took her to think, the bullet bit through the metal that at any other time would be flesh.

"Another perfect shot." Roy murmured, leaning up against one of the wooden poles that held up the tent that did little but magnify the sun's heat. If it weren't for his expression, one would think he was flirting with her.

Hawkeye scowled. "I never miss," She retorted blandly, reloading another magazine into her rifle and glaring at him, eyes a curious mix of brown and crimson. "Sir."

"Call me Roy." He replied pleasantly, smiling at her. She always had a sort of animosity toward him: he suspected it was a feeling of inadequacy. The feeling that she, as a sniper, had failed in this war. Why else might the General call in the assistance of the prized State Alchemists?

"I would prefer to keep our relationship formal, sir." She didn't look at him as she emptied her magazine before he could blink. Not one of the bullets missed its mark. "_If you don't mind_."

Roy smiled, almost as puzzled by her façade as she was by his, and shrugged. "As you wish, lieutenant."

**V.**

Marcoh's laboratory was one of the only true buildings on the eastern military camp, albeit aluminum and

about as sheltering as a wooden lean-to. But it was cool and moist, so unlike the stifling heat of the Ishvalan desert. His establishment was about five feet below ground level, nestled in amongst mud and covered in reflective glass to repel the merciless desert sun. It was surrounded by the tents of the soldiers and thus well secured. It was obvious that, whatever Dr. Marcoh was doing there, the military didn't want anyone or anything to come upon it.

Marcoh spent most of his days in his makeshift laboratory, pouring over alchemic texts and going over the elements and compounds of the red stone. It was better he stay there, anyway, he mused bitterly, chewing his bottom lip. He didn't think he was strong enough to see the destruction going on just outside his shelter. As if turning a blind eye could cause less people to die.

Roy stalked down the stairs silently, squinting into the inky darkness. "Marcoh." His voice called slowly, as if the damp air deterred the sound. The doctor jumped, twisting around at the alchemist.

"Roy. Come in." He replied in the same languid drawl the military expected. "Do you want me to refill your aspirin? I got a new shipment in last week with the train."

Hesitant, The Flame toyed with his words before finally speaking slowly. "I just ran out." He said with a forced smile, a psuedo pleasantry. His mind screamed at him to keep his eyes away from the bubbling flask of scarlet liquid, thick and holding the stench of hot blood.

**VI.**

"That man is suspicious of you." came a distinctly feminine voice from the depths of his laboratory once Roy had long since closed the door behind him.

"Or maybe of you." Marcoh spat, tossing an irritated glance over his shoulder. His eyes could barely adjust to the dim light to make out the figure of his assistant. "You weren't exactly subtle when you arrived."

The woman sighed and moved around behind him; Marcoh could see her dark profile from the corner of his eye. She was frighteningly beautiful, all blunt curve and fair skin. She had an almost dreamy appearance, as if she'd been conceived from a man's fantasy or a woman's jealousy. "I was mingling with the soldiers this morning." she seethed, still bathed almost entirely by shadow. The change of subject was blunt, but her tone dared him to acknowledge it. "There's talk of conspiracy."

"Conspiracy? Ha." Marcoh sneered, pouring a few elements into each other, swirling it together in the vile. "If there is one, it's run by the higher-ups, not me."

"Still," the woman hissed. "The rumors concern me. You can't screw this one up, _doctor_." She pronounced his title as if it were a joke, and then disappeared back into the darkness as a snake would into a clump of weeds.

Marcoh's frown deepened, and he went back to his research.

_TBC..._


	2. II

**Succubus  
****_By Kurama-sweethart (Moe Shmoe)  
_****Pairing:** Mainly Lust x Roy with mentions of Lust x Marcoh  
**Rating:** R for the general theme  
**Warnings:** Alternate Animeverse, Spoilers for Ishval  
**Words:** 1297

**I.**

The Rules were kept but never spoken of, known but not acknowledged; just simple barriers that dictated acceptable behavior from things that weren't even worthy of sin.

The nature of their existence was to break taboo; to attempt things condemned by those who thought themselves worthy of judgment. In their world, sin was accepted as long as it was controlled and regulated and smothered.

_Greed. Envy. Wrath. _

Yet, those things seem so petty and amateur: for those who only wish to poke and make fun at the face of morality, not to truly test its bounds.

At least, not how she wants to.

When she thinks of what Father might say, how He might preach on about His precious Rules, she laughs. If there is one thing to remember, He'd say, it is that you can never lust after those who can reach the deliverance their God can offer. Those who are human.

They wouldn't understand you, He'd say, only those who know you, who know your true nature, can ever _take you._

What He really means is something much more sinister, and as much as she pretends to be ignorant, she knows it.

Who could ever love a sin?

But Lust applies more to those Rules than any of her brothers; how could even He, Pride, really _understand_ her need any better than anyone else? Understand the pure, frothing desire that courses through her very veins?

_He can't. Because no one can. _

Which is why she's here, nestled amongst crates and filing cabinets, waiting for her chance at a passion that wasn't His, nor theirs but, instead, only hers.

**II.**

The morning was hazy with smoke, startlingly quiet and suspiciously calm. If Roy had been a more superstitious or even faithful man, he'd have taken it as an omen of the hostility to come. Three uneventful weeks had passed since the third battle and as far as the war was concerned, things were looking up.

"Major," A sergeant sputtered, racing up to Roy's tent and thrusting a sheet of paper in his face. "Sir, the Alchemists are going to be deployed."

Scowling, Roy glared at the inferior officer, eyes quickly scanning the small print. "And you're sure that we're leaving now?"

"Yes, sir." He replied meekly, "There's been another attack. Eastward."

"Fuck," Roy cursed, crumpling the paper in his fist and taking off towards the General, who was standing towards the North side of their camp. "General Robertson!" He saluted, shoving the paper into his hands. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Ah, Major Mustang," The General replied nonchalantly, gesturing a greeting. "At ease. What seems to be the problem?"

"Why are we being deployed? What's going on?" Roy demanded, as formally as possible. He couldn't afford to be charged with insubordination, now.

The lines in the General's face multiplied considerably. "So Sergeant Fuery did make it to you." Frowning, Robertson paused, studying the wear of maturity on the face of his subordinate; still a child in his eyes, yet a man in Roy's own. "The Ishvarites launched a surprise attack on a blockade, just a few miles East, outside the country lines. They have sent an urgent distress message, and I intend to answer."

"When do we deploy?" Roy asked, tensing. He knew he wouldn't like the answer.

"Listen, Mustang," The General replied softly, placing a reassuring hand on Roy's shoulder. "I know you were hoping that all this would all be over, and believe me, I do too. But it's not and you just have to live with that. –

We leave at noon."

Saluting, his only attempt to show he understood, Roy turned sharply on his heel and marched to his tent to gather his things. If this battle went on to be a repeat of their last, chances were that the military would loose much more than just a few men.

"Which is why I'm going, Maes," Roy said to his canteen, "Which is why I'm going to make sure we win this war."

**III.**

By the next evening, the small unit that had been sent to aid the blockade attack was still a mile away and devoid of half their original provisions. The General declared to his tired, worn army that they would arrive at dawn, and that supplies were to be used conservatively. Thankful of the chance to rest, Roy hastily set up his tent and turned in without eating.

His sleep was fitful and interrupted, plagued with nightmarish visions that left him sweaty and groping his mind for what exactly lived in his dreams.

"Leave her alone!" Screamed a man behind him, and Roy tried to look over his shoulder at the speaker. Instead, he saw nothing but a bloodied X and red eyes and familiarity.

Then another joined in; a strong, demanding voice that spoke in a tongue foreign to him. _"A'yua, maich dei! Inta haon Ishvaru r'mast!" _

"_A'yuda!"_ Screamed a response from the void. A woman's voice, now, anxious and pitiful. _"A'yuda, kan fo'la miente! A'yuda dii maich Ishvaru jas v'e!" _

Roy wanted to respond to them, to understand the pain that these people were caused. But he couldn't, and the more he concentrated the more his dream seemed to trickle away like water cupped between his fingers.

"Have faith!" Once again, the first voice spoke so he could understand; whether it was intentional, Roy never knew. "Have faith in Ishvala!"

"_Nein!_" Seethed the second passionately, as if cursing the other two. "_Nienka a'yua dii ja entalme!_"

Another pained scream, the woman, Roy knew. Her voice was growing weaker. _"A'alla! Xii mian'th jas v'e dii ja maich r'mast!" _

"Major?"

Startled awake, Roy sat up quickly and pressed a palm to his forehead. "Sergeant Fuery." He replied breathily, peeling his sweat slicked bangs from his skin.

The subordinate swallowed and pushed his eyeglasses further up his nose. "General Robertson sent me to rally the alchemists. You're going into the blockade."

Remembering their last encounter, Roy tried to smile cheerfully. "Thankyou, Fuery. Dismissed."

Saluting, the young sergeant made his way to the next tent, leaving Roy to ponder his broken dreams of foreign specters and warfare.

**IV. **

"A'yuda and A'alla?" Marcoh asked quietly, running fingers over his scuffed facial hair. "The names don't belong to any troops, no. Why do you ask?"

Shaking his head, Roy smiled and raised his arms to shrug. "No reason. I heard them somewhere."

"Well, you might not have been hearing names at all," the doctor continued casting nervous glances to their troops. Their squadron had fallen behind the General, which gave the two ample room to talk. "'A'yuda' is from the eastern dialect of Ishvala, which means, literally, 'help'; and 'a'alln' is the word for 'sinful', so 'a'alla' would mean something like 'I have sinned'."

Groping his mind for the details of his dream, Roy was sure that those were the words said. "Would that dialect be spoken in the city of V'oire, from the third battle?"

"Well, yes," Marcoh answered, somewhat cautiously. "But I don't know how that connects to the words you heard."

When Roy didn't answer, only mulled over it more, the doctor continued, "Where exactly did you hear this language, anyway? V'oire was the last city to use that dialect, and no one here should be fluent."

"I know I heard it within the camp." Roy stated, leaving no room for question. "Someone here knows the language."

Frowning, causing the creases below his eyes to deepen, Marcoh shook his head. "Well, be careful. There is a lot of controversy where V'oire is involved, and I'd _hate_ to see _you_ be accused of racial slurs."

The doctor's words were calculated, said with care as to what exactly his message implied. Not bothering to thank him, Roy fell back amongst his own company of state alchemists.

_TBC._

Words can't express how much gratitude I have for those who reviewed and faved: your feedback has really inspired me.


	3. III

**Succubus  
_By Kurama-sweethart  
_Pairing:** Mainly Lust x Roy with mentions of Lust x Marcoh  
**Rating:** R for general theme  
**Warnings**: Alternate Animeverse, Spoilers for Ishval  
**Words:** 1225

**I.**

The fortress was looming and tall in the flat, barren desert; a golden castle amongst chaos like in so many storybook fairytales. In all actuality, it didn't appear to be in any turmoil, standing strong with its stone walls and iron gates.

But Roy knew better.

Just a few yards from the back of the stronghold was a trio of old horses pawing the ground, bags loaded with colorful woven blankets and knapsacks of provisions. Their leaders must have rode those horses, Roy thought foggily, eyes noting the stampedes of footprints all around their fort. The rest arrived on foot.

"Men," General Robertson called, as they were only a few yards from the building, themselves. "Wait outside the gates until the alchemists give you the signal. Alchemists," He paused, eyes glowing in the hard sunlight. "Leave nothing left to identify."

Roy heard Kimblee, The Crimson Alchemist, snickering from somewhere behind him. Armstrong, The Strong Arm, stood strong and silent to his right. Hesitantly, he tossed a glance over his shoulder and caught the sharp eyes of Hawkeye, watching him. Even when he turned away, she did not.

"Yes, sir!" The alchemists saluted. When the General's hand had come to rest at his side once again, that was their signal. They must have looked brave, Roy scowled to himself, walking so fearlessly into the fortress overcome by their enemy.

But at that moment, he was afraid.

**II.**

The front gate was easy to enter; the lock appeared shattered. Roy was the first to crawl in, the smallest man of them to fit between the splinters of what had been iron-barred doors. Immediately his nose caught the stench of blood, although it was so dark he couldn't see any. The floor was wet, and keeping his footing on the stone took almost all his concentration. Around his fingers he could feel the rough material of his gloves, and sometimes he would rub them together, just to make sure they were still there.

"Entryway is clear," He called behind him. A few more alchemists he didn't recognize clambered through, after him. "You two take the left chamber, and you four the right. I'll take the middle. Armstrong, watch the outside in case someone tries to flee."

Each alchemist hurriedly saluted and complied. Taking a deep breath, Roy began to ascend the main stairwell.

Almost a half hour later, there was no sign of the Ishvalan attackers and Roy was beginning to wonder if he should head back. He had scoured the top floors, the artillery rooms, and found nothing taken or disturbed. The chambers in which each soldier slept also looked as if it were left alone, with no sign of a struggle or hasty retreat. Every level seemed peaceful, and since there had been no screams, he assumed that the ground floor was the same, as well.

Taking a long, spiral staircase downward into the prison, Roy felt water drip from the ceiling above him. How did a place like this, in the desert, get so wet? His mind whispered, but he didn't linger on the thought too long.

At the landing, Roy tossed a glance around a corner, straining his eyes to focus on what was in the cells and shackles

Instantly, his stomach clenched and he vomited over the stone floor.

**III.**

The room was spinning around him, and he saw speckles of light flash in front of him. Leaning against the archway, he gasped and tried to breathe through the bile.

Somewhere inside the cell, he heard something. Squinting his eyes shut, he pushed into the chamber. Slumped against the wall was the naked corpse of a woman, her hands tied to the ceiling and her feet dangling. Her breasts were half torn from her body, dangling by the skin from her torso. The area between her legs was totally ripped out, creating a large cavity up to her ribcage. Obviously, whoever was behind this was a fan of sexual torture.

Just beside her, bound to the wall was the form of a dark-skinned man, although the only indication of his sex was his lack of bosom. Nothing but a gash ran from his navel down to his buttocks, genitals completely removed. His feet were completely distorted and obviously broken to the last bone, and they hung limp from his legs that had been stripped of muscle and skin. Dark bruises dotted his arms and face like freckles.

Roy swallowed, noticing small, Ishvalan writing seared into their necks, branding them, he recognized, as "Prisoners 17 and 37". Walking farther into the cell, more and more bodies littered the walls and floor, each one dismantled and ripped; some to a point that they were unidentifiable.

"_A'alla._"

Jumping at the sound, Roy twisted around to glance in one of the catacombs forking off from the main prison chamber. "Who's there?" He called, listening anxiously as his voice echoed back.

Silence reigned for what felt like hours. "_A'alla_."

"Who's the-" He started to call again, when a metal pipe whipped him in the skull from behind.

**IV.**

When Roy awoke, his head was throbbing and there was a sharp pain in his groin. Opening his eyes, he winced at the light.

_Light…_

Lifting his head up, ignoring the stab that ran through his neck, he glanced around the prison cell. Torches on the wall had been lit and were now blazing with the souls of every tortured captive that had died here. Pushing himself up and keeping his balance on a rusty chain hanging from the wall, he looked around.

Towards the center of the catacomb, crumpled into an inhuman heep, lay the body of Doctor Marcoh.

"Oh god." Roy cursed, pushing himself off the wall and towards the body. Just like all the others, his clothing had been discarded; his genitals ripped from his pelvis and, as Roy ran his hands over the rough terrain of his torso, every bone in his body had been broken. A bone in his arm pierced the skin and jutted out gracelessly. "Oh god, oh god, oh god…"

"Mustang!" Called someone from the top of the stairwell. Roy looked up at them helplessly. Even in the murky, damp darkness, he knew who she was.

"Riza." He called, voice hoarse. "Oh god, Riza."

She jumped the stairs and landed awkwardly. "What happened here?" She snapped, almost venomously. He knew she didn't mean to be so sharp, but he flinched visibly.

"I... I don't know. I just found him … I passed out and then he was here…" He answered shakily, still crouched by the bloodied form of Marcoh.

As if the surroundings had just sunk in, Hawkeye looked up. As her eyes passed each body, they grew wider and colder. "_What happened here?_"She repeated, as if he hadn't heard her the first time.

"I don't know!" He said again, unable to look at either her or Marcoh's lifeless eyes. "I don't know."

Standing, she motioned to more soldiers that had suddenly appeared at the archway. "Get the Major out of here, and take care of the corpses. See that they get a proper memorial."

From somewhere in the recesses of the cell, Roy could have sworn he heard a murmuring voice. _"A'alla."_

_TBC._ New chapterby next week, I promise.


	4. IV

**Succubus  
_By Kurama-sweethart_**  
**Pairing:** Mainly Lust x Roy with mentions of Lust x Marcoh  
**Rating:** R for general theme  
**Warnings**: Alternate Animeverse, Spoilers for Ishval  
**Words:** 1046

**I.**

The nights in Ishval were hot, even once the sun had dipped below the horizon. Humidity smothered the soldiers of the Northeastern camp, pushing like weights on their chests. Curled in his tent, Roy wished that it would rain, rinsing the thick, dusty air to taste clean and sweet.

He had trouble sleeping, as with most nights, fitful with dreams of shaking children and kind doctors engulfed in flames. It was always the same; he was standing in darkness, tasting gunpowder as it stung his eyes. Screams echoed around him, each undistinguishable except for those haunting few.

"_Shedim, r'mast maich dei y'e naamah allu. Ma'at haagenti. Bagat, Gaki, Rusalka, Rahab, Naamah, Andhaka, xio'a Mammon._" A woman spoke in a low, hushed voice, as if she were praying. She sounded vaguely familiar. "_You did this to me_."

There was a dull slap of metal against flesh, followed by a strangled whimper. "_You did this to me_." She repeated, louder and angrier. "_Neqa'el lamia belphegor a'yuda!"_

Roy cringed, distantly noting a bruise forming on his back. It throbbed painfully, as if he had been the one struck. Crimson exploded behind his eyes and electricity burst down his spine, collecting in a painful knot in his abdomen.

"_You did this to me_." She said again, breathing heavily. "_Oahu dei asb'el mache_."

**II.**

"Good morning, Major." A familiar voice greeted, and suddenly Roy was painfully familiar of light on his eyes. He squinted his eyes open, trying to make out the figure leaning over him. Outlined in gold from the sun, Riza Hawkeye sat by him, wet cloth in hand. For the first time, he noticed how much fire there was behind her eyes.

Roy groaned, tossing a forearm over his face. "What happened?"

"You blacked out after we left the blockade. The General said we were to stay here until the whole area was secured," She paused, glancing over her shoulder, almost anxiously. "But I'm pretty sure he's stalling until you get better."

There was a long moment of silence, in which both stared into different directions, lost in their own premonitions. Dully, Roy thought that hers were likely very different from his. "The doctor sent over this prescription," She offered suddenly, reaching into her pocket. "He said if you needed anything for your head, that-"

Instantly, nausea overtook him. Memories of Marcoh's body came flooding back like a wave in an ocean storm. "The doctor? He survived?"

Riza almost looked taken aback at his accusation. "The general already had one sent over from one of the other camps. A younger guy, probably as good with first aid as a beetle." She sighed.

"Ha." Roy chuckled darkly. "Replaced already."

"It's not your fault, you know," She prodded cautiously, catching his gaze. He suddenly felt vulnerable. "You couldn't have done anything."

He just scowled and looked away, unable to even look at her anymore. To prove her point, she placed her hand over his, warm and solid and strong.

**III.**

Clutching the prescription Hawkeye had given him, Roy stumbled to the 'warehouse' that had become a makeshift office for the new doctor, dully noting how quiet things seemed to be.

"Major!" Called a wary voice from inside the building, suddenly. Hopping out was, indeed, a rather young looking man with a lopsided smile and unkempt hair. "Glad to see you're up and about."

Curious, Roy nodded slowly at the excited greeting. "Yes, I'm here about my aspirin-"

"Right!" The doctor chirped. "I'm Doctor Bagat, by the way. I was positive I wouldn't get to be deployed into this regiment because I just graduated last spring," He spun off, talking quickly as he led Roy into the warehouse. "But I was so excited when I got the call last night! The General had me airlifted here this morning and it was really-"

From behind the man's back, Roy rolled his eyes. "My aspirin? I'm really in a hurry."

"Oh, right." The doctor paused, suddenly looking desperate. "Going to the… memorial?"

Roy fought a choke in his throat and nodded. "Yes," He managed. The man had large, innocent blue eyes that seemed to lack in naiveté.

"I'm sorry about your loss." he apologized, like he really understood. "The doctor was a very intelligent man. A lot of his notes were given to me by default, but some of them I can't even understand! It's like they're written in some sort of foreign language… Ishvalan, maybe…?"

Somewhere in his mind, a light turned on. "Doctor," Roy started suddenly, as they entered the warehouse. "Could you lend me some of those notes, when you bring me my prescription? I would like to look at them."

"Um… sure." He replied slowly, pulling a frayed notepad off his desk. "Here, take it now. I don't think I can use it."

Roy held the book in his hands, running fingers over the worn edges. "Thankyou, doctor."

**IV. **

The memorial was long and slow, beginning with the General speaking atop a large, hastily made podium. "-And showing immeasurable courage in battle, helping our sick and injured soldiers-"

Roy stood motionless before the casket, already being lowered into the sands of the Great Desert. Pity the doctor couldn't have been airlifted to Central, buried in his home with his wife and children present.

"-To selflessly rush into the Blockade, during the attacks, to assist any wounded in the battle-"

Wounded? There were no wounded. There were only dead.

"-Saved many lives during his time in the military. We would have lost many men if not for the brave efforts of Doctor Tim Marcoh-"

But who was there to save Marcoh? Roy thought angrily, clenching his fists. Who was there when someone mutilated him and left him to die?

"-We give his assistant, A'alla Salaam, our greatest sympathies. She is going along with the holiday train next week, to return to her home in Central."

So that was the name of the doctor's elusive assistant, Roy reflected. Although he couldn't remember ever meeting the woman, he had a sense of knowing; like he had met her before.

For some reason, he had a sudden urge to get on that train.

_TBC._ I'm sorry if this chapter is very vague, but I promise that the clues are there.


End file.
